


What We Are

by Jael



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, CaptainCanary, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Partnership, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6502360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does "happily ever after" mean when you're just not the white-picket-fence and 2.5 kids types? This, I hope. Consider it an AU. A couple years in the future for the Legends. Utterly CaptainCanary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They say we are what we are,  but we don't have to be ...

**Author's Note:**

> So this isn't the third story in the intended trilogy I started with "All Through the Night" and "Homecoming." (That will be coming. Eventually.) This is a thought experiment that wound up writing itself, or at least the first few chapters, in my head as I pondered what I could logically see these two characters go on to do, given that neither is the house-with-the-white-picket-fence type, in my mind. How do you give characters like that a happily ever after?
> 
> Like this, I hope.
> 
> Five chapters, with a resolution and then a sequel planned toward the end of the first season. Should be considered an AU for various reasons. Contains my mad extrapolation for where I could see some things going, so take it with a grain of salt. 
> 
> I own neither the characters nor the show!

They say we are what we are,

But we don't have to be ...

xxx

They're on their way home.

The others are packing, planning, thinking about the lives they plan to resume, even in a changed way ... because how could what they've all gone through together not have changed them? Sara knows she should be thinking about those things too, but instead she's walking through the ship, remembering, trailing her fingers along the walls and seeing scenes play out in her head.

Here is where they played gin that day. Here is where Kendra ambushed her during a training session and then was horrified at the bruise she'd caused. (Sara had never been so proud.) Here is where they were sealed in with the breach. Here is where Ray sits with his coffee every morning, being an absolutely annoying morning person. Here is where Stein likes to set up the chessboard. Here is where she suggested getting weird in the '70s.

There's one other person she suspects isn't indulging in the collective excitement over the impending homecoming, and that's the one person she's looking for. She finally finds him on the bridge of all places, seated in his habitual jump chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes a million miles away. She drops lightly into the seat next to him, knowing it close enough for camaraderie but not close enough to infringe upon the bubble he constantly maintains. She leans her head back and closes her eyes, and they sit in companionable silence for a while.

Finally she feels the force of his gaze on her and opens her eyes to meet his. She's both pleased and saddened, a little, to realize that she was right ... there's no pleasure in the notion of going "home" there. If there's anything, there's a chilly resignation.

She's pretty good at reading him at this point. She wonders, sometimes, what he thinks of that.

"So, what will you be doing now?"

It's a measure of how far they've come that her words don't draw a sneer, or even the resumption of the mask that's his usual way of dealing with uncomfortable things. He continues to meet her eyes while one shoulder lifts in a shrug and the corner of his mouth curls in a rather self-mocking smile.

"No idea."

Losing the smile, he looks straight ahead and concedes, "Doesn't seem quite ... right ... to go back to the whole 'game' now, but I don't really have many marketable skills ... not that most people would value, anyway."

He's being self-deprecating, but she knows he'll hear the truth and sincerity woven through the words when she responds, "I know the feeling."

Crook and assassin. Of course they do.

They don't really have to work (or the equivalent) now, none of them. Hunter and the new regime of Time Masters have made sure they're all well rewarded, though it certainly wasn't the reason they'd set out in the first place. Still, she's pretty confident in thinking that either of them would go mad from boredom within a week, left back on Earth with no occupation, no heist to plan, no nemesis to chase down.

She's been weighing the offer she plans to make in her head, wondering about his response, her own motives, the ... extent ... of what she's offering here. She's overthought it so much that when she simply says the words, they surprise her, too.

"So, I was wondering. When we get back, would you care to stick together for a while? While we're trying to figure out what we're doing with our post-Waverider lives?"

She's surprised him, which is only fair, because she's surprised herself too. It's more than that, though. She's stunned him, based on the genuinely wide-eyed look he's giving her. She'd be amused, if she's not so truly concerned about his reaction.

"Ah, just the two people I was looking for!"

Rip Hunter has a knack for strolling innocently into fraught situations, and apparently that hasn't changed now that he's a big deal in the organization that once kicked him out. He strolls toward them, beaming, and she can't help smiling in response. This is a thoroughly different Hunter, these days. He was instrumental in changing a warped timeline, in saving the world, in saving his own family and then going on to be leader of an uprising against the deep-seated corruption in the Time Masters. Of course he's happy. He's accomplished everything he set out to do, and he has a renewed purpose in his new role as leader of the Time Council ... and again, a husband and father. She's happy for him; she truly is, but she wouldn't mind having a fraction of that purpose, either.

"I have ... what I suppose is best termed a sort of 'job offer' for the two of you."

... What?

Besides her, Snart pulls his habitual slouch into something resembling actual decent posture, and she can tell at a glance his eyes are narrowed at the other man in a way that's more focused than menacing at this point.

"What does that mean?" His words are clipped, curt, instead of drawled. She levels her own intimidating stare at Hunter in support.

"Well, I thought you two of all this lot might be at some ... loose ends ... with the end of the mission." He gives them an expectant look, one that is apparently in no way deterred by whatever their silence and body language tells him. "And ... as we all know to our sorrow ... the Time Masters have a long-standing history of working with bounty hunters in the pursuit of threats to the timeline. Between cleaning out those who were ... brainwashed, shall we say ... and those whose main attribute was their simple brutality, we're left without our slate of operatives. Or any operatives at all, really."

"You want us to be bounty hunters?"

She knows she's not imagining the pain in his voice or the tension in his body here. What happened to Mick, happened, and he still blames himself, though she thinks he now blames the (now-toppled) former leaders of the Time Masters more. There was redemption at the end, but Mick is still gone, and Hunter better know what the hell he's doing here.

To his credit, the Time Master sits down opposite them and meets their eyes, and there's both sadness and sincerity in his own.

"Yes. Free agents, though under the auspices of the Time Masters. I need," he says simply, "someone I can trust."

Those are powerful words, directed to a crook and an assassin, and for a moment, she just stares at him. Snart is silent besides her, though she thinks she detects a minute lessening of the tension that was there moments ago.

"Why us?"

"Well, as I said before, it seemed more possible you'd be less interested in going back to your old lives than the others ... and, quite frankly, your individual talents would line up quite well with this ... line of work." He spreads his hands. "And to be honest, you make an excellent team."

OK, they are very carefully not looking at each other now.

Hunter has the sense to leave that be, and continues with his pitch. "You'd need some training. Not the old, errr, tactics. Timeline calculations and piloting and ..."

"Piloting?" Snart interrupts, as she's thinking the same thing.

"Well, you'd need a ship, wouldn't you?" Hunter pauses to look around fondly. "And there's even going to be one available."

Can he mean ...

"You mean the Waverider," Snart says, an air of amazement in his tone. "You'd give us the Waverider?"

"Loan, rather. Still, she'd be your ship, your responsibility. I'd actually like her to go to someone who respects her."

"You'd trust ... me ... with a time ship." His tone is incredulous. She's momentarily annoyed that he's dropped the "us," but she understands why. Her, he's deemed worthy of trust now. Not so, himself.

Hunter gives him a level look. "I said 'someone I can trust' not five minutes ago, Mr. Snart. I have not changed my mind in that time." He stands. "You'd have to spend some time at the Vanishing Point, which would ... complicate ... the aging process, so that's a consequence you'll have to consider. But it's not like you can't go back to your timeline to visit; you just need to be careful." He pauses again. "While the offer would still be open to either of you individually, with some modifications, I hope you'll consider accepting it as a ... team. Please, do consider, and let me know by the time we land."

He leaves, and if there was tension in the air before, now it could be cut with a knife. She's very carefully not looking at him, and she's not sure why ... didn't she make the suggestion of staying together herself right before Hunter dropped this bomb? But he's not moving; he's barely breathing, and she doesn't want to see what she's afraid she'll see in his face.

Because this offer seems very, very right to her, and a good portion of that is the opportunity to continue kicking ass across time and space with the man sitting next to her.

He stands abruptly; she still doesn't look at him, which is OK, because he also leaves the room very quickly.

As if he can't wait to get away.


	2. I'm bad behavior, but I do it in the best way ...

I'm bad behavior, but I do it in the best way ...

xxx

He couldn't wait to get away.

The very air had felt thick with expectation, and he's not sure what to do with that. Too much ability to be hurt, there. Too much ability to hurt.

"When we get back, would you care to stick together for a while?"

What had she been thinking, saying that?

His thoughts are going around in circles as he paces the ship. (There's the spot where Mick had her pinned, there's the corridor where he'd called her 'assassin' the first time ...)

Was she referring to a simple partnership, something like what he'd had with Mick? (He shies away from that notion, for more than one reason.) Something ... more, albeit with no commitment to it? Or something more complicated, with even more potential for pain?

He has no idea.

They've flirted; oh, they've flirted. He doesn't think he's fooling himself to say there's been more there, just under the surface, both a fairly intense attraction and a fundamental mutual understanding. But it's not something they've ever acted on.

Goddamn it. This is why he avoids emotions.

He's all too aware, right now, that he may have been offered two things he wants ... badly wants ... on a silver platter.

One, to his own surprise, is the Waverider. The job, the challenge, the future that Hunter just dangled before them. It seems a fitting way to ... make amends ... for certain mistakes in his life, and somewhere inside, he admits that this ship has become the next best thing to a home over the past two years.

And he likes a good challenge. Being a crook, even a very, very good one, doesn't seem like it offers much after what he's been doing.

The other, of course, is her.

That's the first time he's ever admitted it to himself in any real capacity.

He stops dead in his tracks, then stalks irritably back to his room, avoiding any section of the ship where one of the others might be.

Only to find her sitting there, waiting for him.

He doesn't have more than a moment to wonder how she got Gideon to let her in when she stands, crosses her arms, and looks at him.

OK, so he's a sucker for that "I could kill you with my pinkie" glare.

"Really, we just need to agree on one thing now," she says without preamble. "Do you want to take this ... job ... Hunter is offering? Because I do. And don't really want to do it without you."

He stares at her for a long moment. And then he manages a single nod.

Sara smiles. And she crosses the room, stopping very purposefully just inside his comfort zone. It is, frankly, all he can do not to run. He narrows his eyes. It doesn't fool her.

"Beyond that," she says, almost whispers, "well, I figure we have a few options. We can be partners. Friends. I mean, we've managed it for the past two years. We could both do worse than kicking ass together across time, right?"

She doesn't let him answer, though, but moves imperceptibly further into his space. "Or ... we could try a sort of ... friends with benefits situation. I figure we could both do worse than that, too. It's been ... a very long two years, after all."

No, he's definitely not breathing. And she's just a little bit closer.

"Or ... we could go for more. Now, I'm not quite sure what I want to call that, and I don't think you are either, but maybe it's something we should talk about.

"Think about it."

And she's out the door, giving him his space back, albeit with an awful lot of things to think about.

He decides he needs a shower. A very, very cold one.


	3. I'll be the watcher, of the eternal flame ...

I'll be the watcher, of the eternal flame ...

xxx

It doesn't take long for word to travel around the team that two of them will be staying with the Waverider, will continue working with Hunter, and will, as Stein puts it, continue spreading their own unique brand of chaos across time.

What surprises them both is just how pleased those teammates are about it.

Both individually, of course, because they're still not really talking about it, or anything else, for that matter.

Xxx

"So does this mean what I think it might mean?"

They might be in the middle of one last sparring session, but that's not stopping Kendra from the leading questions. Sara rolls her eyes and blocks a blow, spinning and holding up a hand to indicate a break.

"It means absolutely nothing," she informs her friend indistinctly while mopping her face with a towel. "It means we'll continue to be teammates. Just a smaller team."

"Mmhmm." The other woman takes a drink of water. "So will you be co-captains? Are you taking over the captain's quarters? Does it have a nice, big bed?"

"Kendra!" But they're both laughing. The other woman was probably the first to twig to the fact that there was an undercurrent between two of her teammates. She's been waiting for them to do something about it ever since.

"Well, I essentially suggested that potential for that myself, and he hasn't spoken to me since, so I'm not holding my breath."

There's sympathy in Kendra's eyes, but Sara doesn't want it. So she changes the subject. "I'm going to miss you."

She really will. She'll miss all of them. They've become a team and a family, one that almost certainly understands her better than her blood family does.

Kendra smiles back at her, recognizing the distraction but willing to let it go for now.

"Well, you'll just have to come visit."

Xxx

"So you're going to be learning how to fly this tin can?" Jax looks affectionately around himself at the ship's walls and ceiling and adds, "No offense, Gideon!"

"None is taken, Mr. Jackson."

Leonard Snart has never been chatty, and he's not much for listening to chatter either, but sometime over the course of the past two years, he's discovered he doesn't really mind the kid hanging around and talking at him.

Occasionally, he might even reply.

They were neither of them born with a silver spoon, after all. And there have been bonds forged here, on this ship and off it. The kid is a good teammate. One of his crew.

For a few more hours, anyway.

"So I'm told." He's not really a man who keeps a lot of things ... the results of all his meticulously planned heists were more to be turned into cash and other resources, not to mention the sheer thrill of the game ... but he's taking the opportunity to sort through the sparse contents of his room, both to winnow what's there and to see if there's anything he really wants to pick up during this stop, now that he knows it's just a stop.

Books, he thinks. They're one of his few indulgences. Some decent liquor, maybe.

There's something else he's thinking of. Maybe. Just considering.

He's picked up a few ... bits and pieces ... through time, just to keep his hand in and, if he admits it, to annoy Hunter. He rolls a pair of admittedly spectacular emerald earrings through his fingers before speaking again.

"Your mom wear jewelry?"

"Some. Not much; she likes the nice stuff and we ..." He shuts up as the other man turns and tosses him the earrings, catching them through pure reflex.

"Whoa. She would love these. But ... um ... am I accepting stolen property here?"

It is, of course, but fairly innocent for all that. He's always been one to prefer fleecing those who have too much rather than those who have too little. "Of a sort. I can promise you they weren't missed ... much."

"Where ... did they come from?"

He shrugs. Not that he cares, but the kid's tone is more of curiosity than censure, so he'll answer. "1920s stop. Tycoon with more money than god."

The man had been slime, ogling Sara ... and Kendra ... in their flapper dresses like they'd been delivered to the party just for him. Liberating some of the wealth in that glittering Jazz Age hole made him feel just the tiniest bit better about not icing the bastard.

"I remember him." Jax stares at the earrings for a few more moments before pocketing them. "Thanks, man. She'll love 'em."

Emeralds for an emerald, he thinks to himself. As far as he knows, Jax never told anyone about that trip.

He's already given Stein a magnificent sapphire ring for his wife and presented Kendra with a necklace of topaz and tiger's eye. (To his slight discomfort and great amusement, she hugged him.) He's saving a set of rubies for Hunter's Miranda when he thinks it will annoy the other man most. Thinking of which, he still plans to give Ray those pink diamonds for whatever poor woman might be in his future but he needs to find a way to do it that won't make him look soft.

Nothing had seemed quite right for Sara. Not as a "goodbye" gift. Now, he's realizing that stolen goods ... no matter how appropriate ... aren't going to be what he wants to do there.

"So ... you're going to come back to visit, right? It's going to be weird, not seeing everyone all the time." The kid realizes he's tiptoeing close to sentiment. "Well, I'm sure Gray and I will be around; I'm going back to school. Ray and Kendra plan to stick close, I think. Won't be the same without you and Sara, though. And Rip too, I guess, but he's not really from around here anyway."

Somehow, he's gone from being begged to leave Central City to being asked to visit. He smiles, just a little. "Guess we'll see."

A new voice chimes in. "We'll have to do a reunion or something every year!"

And right on cue. He raises his voice without turning to look at the newcomer. "The kid is allowed to hang around and bother me, Raymond; you are not."

He senses rather than sees the other man pause right on the verge of the open door, then carefully slide his foot back to the other side. Two years of intimidation result in that; two years of teamwork, however grudging, ensure he stays there anyway.

He sighs to himself, and turns.

The Boy Scout still has that eager puppy look, even after all this time. And he can't quite bring himself to kick that particular puppy right now.

He glares, though. He gets only a smile in return.

"So, it's really cool you're going to be staying with the ship now. And Sara too. Um ... so are you the captain, or is she?"

It doesn't deserve a response. He manages a withering look, though.

"Does this mean you two are, uh, a thing?"

Behind him, Jax chokes.

This also doesn't deserve a response, at least not one beyond another disdainful look, but the words explode out of him instead. "What the hell is this, high school?"

Somewhat to his surprise, the other man folds his arms and gives him a level stare. "I don't know; you're the one who's been flirting with her the past two years without doing anything about it. You tell me."

Hmm. He's observed before that the Boy Scout does have some nerve. Hell of a time to show it, though.

"So, what is this, the big brother, 'what are your intentions' talk?" It's all cutting very close to the quick now, down where things hurt, so he reverts to sneer and sarcasm and the comfort thereof.

Somewhat to his surprise, Ray snorts. "I think she'd have killed you months ago if she wasn't A-OK with any 'intentions.' I just think, well ...," and now he looks uncomfortable, "... look, some things you can't plan for, right? Sometimes you have to take chances, or you lose people.

"Look, the two of you are awesome together; we've all seen it. Be a shame if you never took that chance."

There'd been a fiancée once, he knows. And the whole thing with Kendra. Chances taken. Because of that, he doesn't snap back, doesn't speak to hurt. Doesn't speak at all. Just turns away, busies himself with the tidying up.

After a moment, Jax rises and leaves with a quiet "See ya."

When he turns around again, they're gone.


	4. Chapter 4

I'll be the guard dog, of all your fever dreams ...

xxx

By the time they land, all the goodbyes have been said. There have been hugs, and handshakes, and promises to visit, and ceremonial shots and toasts. ("To Carter!" "To Mick!") In the end, all that's left are seven people going back to lives or on to new lives. The pieces of a team that saved the world. Sara has to blink a tear or two out of her eyes as she stands there in the field, as the Waverider flickers out of sight, shielded, behind her. Once more chapter done.

Hunter is staying until tomorrow morning, giving her or Snart, he says, a chance to take care of any needed or wanted items, any business in this time. Then they'll be off to the TimeMasters and the Vanishing Point, and new chapters in their lives. Turn the page.

She halfway thinks she saw a flicker in his eyes between her and Snart as he mentions dealing with any "business" ... and she's halfway considered dragging the infuriating "crook" to a hotel and kicking his feet out from under him, for a conversation, of course ... but by the time she's ready to leave, he's nowhere in sight.

Aggravating ass.

She wishes it was Star City they've stopped in, but she'll make do. She finds a quiet corner of a park, somewhere without eavesdroppers, and calls her sister, just to let her know that she's back, briefly ... and what she's planning to do next.

It could have gone bettr.

"Just so I understand," Laurel says slowly, "you're flying off to be a bounty hunter. On a spaceship. While shacking up with a supervillain."

Sisters. "Well, yes to the first. But it's a time ship. And he's ... sort of reformed. And there's not exactly any 'shacking' going on right now. And, wait a minute, that's none of your business anyway!"

She hears her sister sigh. "This is what you want?"

"Yes. This is ... needed," she says, choosing her words carefully. "This is a good thing. This is what I want."

Laurel sighs again. "Then you should do it. I'd like a chance to meet this guy, though."

There's really no response to that, and she gets off the phone soon afterward.

She has less than 24 hours. Might as well make use of it.

xxx

He takes off almost immediately.

He's said his goodbyes; there's no reason for lingering. He has things to do, messages to send.

He has a plan. He almost always has a plan.

Central City's finest jeweler has a shop not far away. He strolls in, gives the place a thorough once-over, smiles at the clerk, and walks back out.

He's brought the smaller model ... just developed over the past year ... of the cold gun with him, under his coat; he silently considers the time of day and shrugs; someone will notice. Standing outside, he primes it for one moment, two, three, then shuts it down again.

One, two, three, four ...

It doesn't take long for that infuriating scarlet streak to appear.

The kid skids to a stop, eyes flicking between him and the store. He smirks. "Still don't trust me around gemstones, eh, Alllen? I'm hurt."

"Cisco marked the gun's signature here; figured it wasn't worth taking chances, especially since we didn't know you were back in town." The kid gives him a reserved look.

He answers the unspoken question. "Did we win? Yeah. Against this guy ... these guys ... anyway. Can't tell you all's sunshine and roses in the future, but there are a few less things to worry about." Abruptly, he changes the subject. "Any sign of my sister?"

Barry Allen shakes his head. "Not since ..."

... since you ratted her out, most of her gang was arrested, and she left town, he finishes in his head, tiredly. He actually already knows Lisa's in another city, probably working another heist, although not where. Although they're speaking again to some extent, she doesn't really confide in him now. "Just checking."

The kid is eyeing him with trepidation. "And you? Are you back for good?"

"Relax, kid. That's what I ... summoned ... you out here for." He smirks a little about how predictably that worked out. "Heading back out. Job with the TimeMasters. Figured you should know 'Team Flash' doesn't have to worry about 'Captain Cold' anymore."

"You all right with that?" The kid actually looks concerned.

"It's a living." He's not telling Barry Allen his reasons for the decision. Abruptly, he decides this conversation is over. "Take care of my city."

He takes three paces away, then, on a whim, a mere whim, ducks back into the store. Within a few moments, Allen, who could never leave well enough alone, follows him, out of costume now.

He spares the kid a glare, then returns to his perusal of the glass cases.

"What are you doing?" Allen asks in a stage whisper. The clerk is watching them both with alarm. He catches her eye, rolls his eyes dramatically, the picture of any exasperated friend. She relaxes, a hair.

"Shopping."

"You?"

"Yes, Allen, me." He pointedly ignores the other man, hoping he'll leave. Predictably, he doesn't.

"What are you looking for?"

"None of your business." But his tone is absent. This is the best jeweler in the city, although he's never pulled anything here; he prefers ... preferred ... to get his hands on the raw materials rather than finished merchandise, and there are better ways to do that. The items for sale are extremely high quality, his practiced eye tells him that, but nothing he sees seems quite right.

"So ... are you going to be traveling with someone?"

He doesn't dignify it with an answer, although he mentally chalks up a point to the kid for making the connection.

A ring, he finds inappropriate for a martial artist. (And he shies from what's implied there, anyway.) Earrings don't seem quite right. A necklace is somehow what he's been picturing, but the solitaires and hearts and other designs he's seeing don't fit.

"Is it Sara Lance?"

Double points. He thinks he might have twitched, but otherwise does not react, pretending the all-too-perceptive pest isn't there.

A few moments later, the kid actually taps him on the arm.

The glare he delivers actually makes A take a step or two back, but doesn't keep him from grinning from ear to ear and pointing into the next case. Ignoring isn't working, so he actually deigns to look.

And there it is: a white gold filigree snowflake about as big as his smallest fingernail, glittering with blue and white diamonds, strung on a delicate chain.

He doesn't even bother to pretend it's not perfect, just wordlessly purchases it, gives the grinning Barry Allen one last glare and heads off on his next errand.

Smug son of a bitch.

xxx

Barry has returned to work, still grinning to himself, then grabbed dinner and strolled into Star Labs before the next part of a very strange day begins.

His phone rings.

"Barry? This is Laurel Lance," says the voice on the other end. "I understand my sister is in your city today. I am ... concerned ... about her. And what do you know about Leonard Snart?"

He chokes on his coffee.

"Um. Yeah, I know she's here. And I sort of know Snart. Much as anyone does here, I guess."

"She's going off somewhere with him, and I don't like it," comes the terse response. "Isn't he a criminal? I don't want to see her hurt."

He resists the urge to tell the woman on the other end of the call that her baby sister is one of the scariest people he's ever known, well able to take care of herself. He knows, too, that's not really the kind of "hurt" she's talking about.

"Well. Yeah, he was. But he's been off with this group fighting Savage, and he tells me they won ..."

"You talked to him? Today?" Her voice is very intense. "What do you think?"

He takes a deep breath, well aware of the irony here as he tries to defend the man Cisco had dubbed Captain Cold.

"Laurel," he says carefully, "I ... think that maybe he's in love with your sister. And if he is, I think he'd die before he'd hurt her. I can tell you he's been ... a problem ... for us in the past, but I really think he's trying to do something better. And I think she might be part of the reason for that."

He can hear Cisco and Caitlin making choking noises in the background.

Silence on the phone. Then he hears Laurel let out a long sigh.

"I think you might be right," she says finally. "And I think maybe she's fallen for him as well. So ... what can we do to give this a push? Because I also get the impression they're being a little stupid about it."

Slowly, he smiles again. "I might have a few ideas."


	5. I am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass

I am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass

I try to picture me without you ... but I can't.

(All lyrics from "Immortals," Fall Out Boy)

xxx

Laurel tells him a few of the spots Sara might be visiting. But first, he needs to mark Snart.

It's not difficult, which might be surprising. But he knows how it is to cling to the familiar, to routine, when the rest of your life is in flux around you, so it's not surprising when Cisco's usage of the city surveillance cameras rewards them with a view of the tall man heading into Saints & Sinners.

("I can't believe we're helping Snart hook up." "We're not. We're making sure he stays on the side of the angels." "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?")

Barry is taking some care not to be seen by Sara, although he figures she's pretty perceptive and will just chalk it up to the Flash doing ... Flash things ... if she sees the red blur out of the corner of her eye. At first, he considers trying for something subtle ... trying to guide her steps to the bar, or something.

In the end, he just skids to a halt in front of her and pretends he's delivering a message.

"Hey!" It's a little disturbing, he thinks, how quickly her eyes track him even before he's slowed down, and he's positive she has a knife in her hand. Maybe more than one. "Barry Allen, remember? I have a message for you."

He doesn't really have to say who the message is from, right?

He's not sure she buys it, really, but her lips quirk as she absorbs the address he gives her (it's not so far away) and she nods in acceptance.

"So ... are you going?"

"And you care ... why?"

The question isn't actually sarcastic or flippant, so he's startled into an answer, sort of. "Well, it'd be a shame if he didn't think you got the message ..."

She smiles to herself as she does, indeed, change direction to put herself on a route to the bar. "That ass really doesn't know how many people he has on his side, does he?"

"I don't think he's really used to the idea, no."

"Well. It's about time he starts getting used to it."

xxx

If he'd had the nerve to ask Sara if she wanted to meet for dinner, he'd have picked somewhere nicer, but as it is, he's so at loose ends by the time he finishes with other errands that he reverts to habit and makes his way to the bar.

He's contemplating the beer and cooling burger and fries in front of him when she slips into the booth across from him.

"Hey, stranger. Come here often?"

Banter is easier. "I don't know. What's a woman like you doing in a place like this?"

"Hopefully getting something to eat. Buy a girl dinner?"

He does, of course. They consider each other over the food and beers, both fully cognizant of missteps made and the various ways this could go.

"If the past two years hadn't happened? If we'd just met here tonight, and hit it off?" she finally asks, "What would you do?"

He actually can't imagine that happening. He was too guarded, too suspicious, to chat up a random blonde in a bar, no matter how beautiful she happened to be or how she happened to move. It's been the past two years, almost right from the start, that allowed them to put together the pieces of each other, to slip through the cracks in each other's defenses.

Still, it gets him thinking. And after he's paid the bill, he meets her questioning eyes again.

"Let me show you the city."

They walk along the waterfront; they stop at a food truck for dessert. Both smirk a little at the notion of playing good little tourists.

He contemplates breaking into Star Labs for the sheer amusement of it, but he doesn't want the kid asking any awkward and untimely questions about his earlier purchase, and besides, the occasional flicker seen out of the corner of his eye tells him there are tabs being kept on them anyway, for some reason.

He points out places he's pulled heists, and things – the zoo, the museums – he took Lisa to do when she was little and he was trying to give her a semblance of normalcy. (To anyone else, the dichotomy might seem odd, he reflects.) She talks about her own family, about how she loves them but that's not the place for her anymore, about her time as the Black Canary and how she tried to be a force for good.

As it gets later, getting restless, they hit another dive bar, find something suitable on the jukebox (Captain and Tennille being somewhat rare in 2016), slip into familiar banter ("You want to dance, Leonard?" "I'd rather watch"), start a bar brawl, finish a bar brawl, get kicked out, and go find another bar, where they drink a few shots to Mick.

At one point, Sara hears a woman being accosted in a parking lot, and they take off without hesitation. She's smoothly knocked out two of the assailants and spins to get the other only to find he's already broken the bastard's nose.

The grin she gives him then is something he'll never forget.

They vanish into the night, keep walking.

Eventually, they stroll past his childhood home. He tells her about the emerald, about his hopes, about seeing his younger self, about what he'd told that boy. She takes his hand at some point after that. He lets her, pretending he didn't.

At some point after that, they've made it back to city center and it's getting truly late. He's dropped his coat over her shoulders at some point, but they can't keep walking all night and he hesitates, footsteps slowing on a street corner.

"Do you want to head back to the Waverider?"

She makes a small sound of annoyance and stops in her tracks, dragging him to a halt, too. He turns to face her, and she's standing very, very close.

"Seriously? Is that really what you want to do?"

It isn't, of course.

xxx

On the rooftop across the street, Barry Allen flashes to a stop and damned near cheers right out loud. He'd thought they were going to keep walking all night. As it is, he does laugh out loud.

"What?" demands the voice in his earpiece. "Did he finally kiss her?"

"Looks like it's pretty mutual, actually." He peers over the edge of the rooftop wall. Things were getting downright heated already. "I'm going to tell them to get a room."

"Barry!" Laurel Lance sounds horrified. "Don't you dare!"

He laughs again and does it anyway. He laughs even harder when, without pausing, they both flip him off in unison.

xxx

So, in the end, they do wind up getting a room.

Years later, with silver in her hair and decades as part of the most badass (and respected) pair of bounty hunters around, she'll still look back on that night as the night they truly become partners.

What happens in that room, that night, is a pact and a promise and a challenge. They've never been able to truly back away from a challenge, neither one of them, and they are, after all, very, very compatible. They damn well blow the door off its hinges, she'll think later, while a smile. It was ... memorable ... no matter how many times it happens again. (And those times are many.)

And, also decades later, with a ring on her hand and the snowflake pendant still around her neck, she'll look back on the next morning as the moment they truly become lovers.

It's different, with sunlight spilling through the curtains and a certain sense of peace all around. All the scars are visible; all the wounds are bared. There are stories to be told, history to be shared.

It is also ... memorable.

And for once, wrapped in that peace, they sleep.

Eventually.

xxx

They make it back to the Waverider not too late, really. Hunter is waiting, tapping his toe a bit with impatience, but that fades as the TimeMaster takes in their rather rumpled state, his hand on her elbow, the tiny, sparkling snowflake she wears around her neck. In the end, Hunter merely smiles and vanishes into the Waverider ahead of them.

He offers her his arm as they board the ship. She takes it.

Turn the page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There will be a sequel. I need to do some research and figure out my incarnation of the TimeMasters (and the Jael K theories of time travel). But I'm happy where I'm leaving this duo for now.
> 
> I might write a scene from this, though, and call it "That Morning." :) Maybe.
> 
> Thank you you so much for reading and for all the lovely comments. They mean so much.


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